Classic Poem

 Yearly at Sestus Town for Venus sake,
Mother of Wakes, was kept a jolly Wake:
But Greeks say 'twas a customary howling
For her Adonis , or Annual Condoling.
Their Goddesses and Countries active Drudge,
Who keenly carry'd on their mortal Grudge
Against a certain Outlaw, who i'th' Woods
Reign'd Lord, and King, and liv'd on true mens Goods:
That reap'd and mow'd where he did never plow,
But where he plow'd none e're cou'd reap or mow;
Who Plow-mans Joy did trample under foot,
And Tyrant-like, let nothing near him sprout.
But those small faults, such as the Greeks cou'd pardon,
And Composition Carrots out of Garden
Had giv'n him yearly, wou'd the Churl have spar'd
But their meat, drink, and cloth in the Vineyard:
Yet he wou'd not be wean'd; but at their charges
Basely alone went on carowsing Verjuice,
And was before the pressing of the Liquor,
Of jolly Grecian bowls the shrewdest Nicker;
Whence all the thirsty Greeks grew mad, and swore
Deeply, they'd drink the rest out in his Gore:
And straight the bold Associates pitch'd upon
A Chief to lead them, or to bid 'em on,
Who though he had no hair on Chin, or Brest,
Had Valour nevertheless most manifest:
And Mars himself 'tis thought hath oft out-done:
For it is certain Venus loved none
Like him of all her Lusty Boys, and Cronies
Good Bit of flesh, call'd as I said, Adonis .
For when Night 'gan to peel, and Day was dawning,
Up he would get, and leave his Goddess yawning,
Who waking, turn'd to th'Wall, and thought t'ave had 'im,
As other Utensils, where she had laid him;
But found the eager Huntsman still would leap
The Fence, not taking Notice of the Gap:
Whence straight in Rage she call'd him curtail'd Fellow.
And then to ease her Heart, she cuff'd her Pillow.
So when the Hare is mist where she was squatting,
Next Bush the mump'd Pursuers fall a beating.
But when sh'ad paus'd, (quoth she) “'Tis Phœbe is chief
“Cause, and Contriver alway of my Mischief:
“That long-legg'd Ramp, that daggle-tail'd she-ranger,
“To well-disposed Folkes still Dog in Manger:
“She leads the able Youth astray, bewitches
“Them with that early Itch of leaping Ditches;
“And in their warm Bed will not let them tarry,
“Where if they love toil they might be aweary.
“And to the prickly Thickets need not roam,
“'Till out of Breath might beat the Bush at Home.
“But let 'um go like Fops, for know stale Maid,
“(With that she snear'd) that we have Men more staid,
“And you but spoil our Sport to make it better,
“And when my Foe, in Truth are but my Setter.
“So fumbling Bards do oft depose a Rhime,
“But to admit one that will better chime.”

 Meanwhile the Goddess held all these Discourses,
Adonis was a tooting for his Forces:
For note though Hunting's said to be in fashion,
Much like to grinning Honours Recreation;
In this they disagree, for in the War
O'th Woods, the Captain is the Trumpeter,
And makes the first proof of his scorning Death,
By being free, and lavish of his Breath.
So did our Leader, who when he had drawn
His Band of Green-coats out upon the Lawn,
By Proverbs sage advise to scape a Trip,
Resolv'd with them to look 'ere he did leap ;
Which to wise Warriors Custom is according,
Who 'ere they fall to blows, do fall a Wording;
By which means those that are in Reason stout,
The Enemy before they see him, rout.
And first as they in Story oft did find,
High Ancients did, they made the most o'th'wind:
Then sent abroad their Scouts, which Man still reckons
In time of War or Peace, his faithful Seconds.
For when the Shepherd had a mind to sleep,
They are the Guard, and Hectors of the Sheep;
And when it is his pleasure to go murther,
In that Heroick Vertue none go further;
So that if I may judge, they have much wrong,
To be left out of Registering Song.
But he who makes, not he who ends the Quarrel,
Is known to run away still with the Lawrel.
But to leave off the wont poetick Pother,
Small sense with heaps of words t'orelay and smother.
The Chase, know then in few words was begun,
And nimble Rogues had got the start of th' Sun,
And to the Forest merrily did trudge
With Pole on Shoulder to leap Ditch or Hedge,
Which Pole (some say) had iron Peg at end on't,
In case that Boar should chance to prove Defendant.
By Thorn, or Holly Turn-pikes of the Wood,
The doubty Youngsters scorn'd to be withstood;
For through the surly Thickets each did rush,
And manfully then fall upon his Bush:
So that, alas, throughout the spacious Forest,
The smallest of her Tenants cou'd have no rest.
The Hare, the lurking Cunny, and the Squirril,
Must all have then sate still at their own Peril.
For lazy Boar himself began to reckon
That he must move if he wou'd save his Bacon;
And as all Heroes who are truly bred,
Scorn'd to be caught by sneaking Death abed.
So took his Heels; yet as bold Parthian ,
His teasing Foes still wounding as he ran;
'Till finding odds against him, not afraid,
Yet Danger prudently with Honour weigh'd;
And since not able to resist their Force,
Bravely resolv'd to beat 'um in a Course:
Or rather (as some guess) he had the Cunning
Of the fly Roman , who made a shew of Running,
His Foes not to avoid, but separate;
That singly with 'em he might try his Fate.
For when the Sentinel Adonis popt
Out of his Hawthorn Ambush, strait he stopt;
And Youth no sooner shew'd his Meaning cruel,
But Boar tossing his Snout, receiv'd the Duel.
Fate was not then so meek as now a days;
Contented to take up with bloodless Frays,
Folks go a field to measure Swords, and Valour,
And after Trial neither found the taller;
For both, lest Fame should lie, do live to tell
The World, that they were both invincible:
Nor then was Honour bound by Law of Quarter,
To chouse her self of many a brave Martyr.
The Boar, as wise Folkes say, Harm watch, harm catch ,
In's own Defence, his Huntsman did dispatch.

 Now tender Virgins who are always ready
To shew y'ave Bowels, hold yet 'till I bed ye:
Hold, hold, I say, a while, if ye are able,
For Subject to ensue more lamentable.
The savage Conqueror, not satisfy'd,
Till's Stomack, as his Vengeance he had cly'd,
And Tartar -like not only to o'erthrow
Content'd but must dine upon his Foe,
Alas! first of chary Morsel carv'd,
Sacred to Venus , and while she for it starv'd,
And many other since, by the Confession
Of Sestian Virgins yearly Lamentation,
In which poor Hero bore the greatest Part,
And wronging none, did take it most to Heart;
And yet her Beauty truckled not to Grief,
For both, she was the Representative
Of Widow Venus , and at once did make
Stout Hearts with Love and Pity both to ake.
But most the youngsters of Abidus , who
Came o're the water but to see the show;
The show! fie, let's employ words more in fashion;
The holy March, or Trapesing, or Procession;
Much such as now adays when to keep Noses
From sense of Death, are worn Rosemary Posies.